the

d the rejected Luna

arely st

longer ou

he mud at my feet ... one dress, a handful of coins, my mother

hed, opened his mouth

apped, and the gates slammed shut beh

I was done giv

at walls I'd bled for, my hand lifting toward the ga

" I said,

and started walking, because standing still meant thinking, and t

d for their ritual, dark and crusted against my skin. I walked until the ache in my legs drowned everything else out, then

n all the nights I'd read this book cover to cover looking for her voice. My mother's h

s, then I have already

the paper. I read it twice

see the mark be

pressing flat over silk, over the place that had burned silver hours ago in front of three hundred witnesses. How. How co

close, and every thoug

sects. No birds. Even the rain sounded muf

un

un

eyes bloomed between the trunks, too ma

ungry things. They were clos

e said, grinning wide

" another answered,

threat would have. They didn't w

fore I d

ss my arms. Mud sucked at my ankles and nearly took me down twice. Behind me,

hree bounding strides. Another cut across the road ahead of me. I skidded

urning it over with mock

istful of p

N

his sleeve, and the backhand that followed sent the whole wor

g through

. until hooves broke it, dozens of them, riders pouring out of the treeline like something

someone screa

scattered

word still raised, not at me ... over me, a

arms had stop

trees, then back down, and something in his face s

e word in his own throat,

and the forest, the rogues, the torn pages scattering in the mud

e gentle sway of a carriage, every muscle

oking at me ... or he was trying not to. His eyes kept sliding down, snag

I felt the cool air on the mark bef

he carriage floor. Not a bow. A kneel ... the kind

ough the curtain, voice low

irst said, and his hands we

o place, heart hammering. "

eir heads lower, like looking at me

ge lurched

clinging wet to his shoulders. Every rider dropped to their knees in the mud w

en his eyes found mine through the door, they filled and spilled over before he could stop them. His hand rose toward my face, trembling, and stopped an in

," he said, voice break

in. Rain dripped from his b

twenty

ng in his face ... the shape of the grief there, worn deep like a groo

he paper soft with age, and pressed it into

h, the tilt of my eyes. Beside her stood a little girl, small and solemn, one hand pre

bowed, voice cracking wide open around the w

. Princess Feli